


Sick and Tired

by orphan_account



Series: Of Monsters and Martin [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Dubious Consent, Emetophilia, Illness, M/M, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Martin has been suffering from some kind of illness for weeks. His partner promises to care for him.(The Corruption)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Of Monsters and Martin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776565
Kudos: 29





	Sick and Tired

Martin was sick. He’d been sick for weeks, waking up with his stomach churning and his head throbbing, sweating through his sheets. Each morning he’d walk to the bathroom and spend ten minutes shaking and vomiting over the toilet. David was there behind him, rubbing his back and brushing his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes.

He’d been with David for a few months now. They’d gotten a place together, and Martin was happy to call David his boyfriend. They went on dates, they cuddled on the couch and watched television together, they had sex. David had been especially attentive when Martin’s sickness began to set in. He’d encouraged Martin to stay in bed, so Martin did so, leaving their bedroom only to vomit or use the bathroom. He spent the day reading or lying in bed with David, and it felt about as nice as being violently ill could feel.

Most days, Martin felt too sick to eat, but David always insisted he eat something. He’d settled on bringing Martin a bowl of soup every evening, sitting in bed and watching him until he’d swallowed every last drop. Martin threw up afterwards more often than not, but he appreciated the sentiment.

He noticed when the soup started tasting off. It had always had kind of a funny aftertaste to it, but he didn’t eat a lot of canned chicken soup prior to falling ill, so he figured either it just tasted like that or his illness was messing with his sense of taste. But the taste had only gotten stronger over time. It wasn’t exactly a foul taste. It was oddly sweet, not the sort of flavour you’d ever expect from chicken soup but it wasn’t gross enough that Martin had trouble eating it. When he threw up afterwards, he didn’t consider it was because of that odd taste, just that any sort of food unsettled his stomach.

It had been mere coincidence that he saw David preparing the soup.

He’d gotten out of bed and was stumbling towards the bathroom, clutching his stomach and holding his breath to avoid throwing up on the floor again. He’d smelled the soup as he walked past the kitchen, and turned inside to see David standing over the stove. There was something off about him. It wasn’t so much something Martin saw as it was something he felt. His stomach dropped, but it wasn’t the nausea he’d been feeling constantly for weeks. It was a deep, painful dread. He stared at David, clasping a hand over his mouth to try and mask his breathing (and also in case he vomited then and there), watching him prepare the soup. David was grinning to himself as he stirred the pot on the stove. His movements were slow and deliberate, like it required some kind of intense thought to heat up canned soup. Then he rolled up his sleeve.

The skin beneath was black. Sick, decayed, necrotic black. Martin had to concentrate very hard not to vomit at that point, and he knew he should probably stop looking, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched David pull out a kitchen knife, dragging the tip over his dead flesh. Something oozed out, something far too thick and dark to be blood. It dripped into the pot of soup, and David picked up the spoon and began to stir. The awful grin never faded from his face, and the liquid kept dripping slowly out of his arm.

Martin ran. He ran as fast as he could, down the hall and to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before throwing up violently. He was shaking and crying, barely able to catch his breath as vomit poured from his mouth. He felt a hand in his hair, stroking him gently.

“It’s okay, baby,” David whispered. “You’re okay.”

Martin wanted to scream. He wanted to interrogate David about what he’d just seen, he wanted to turn around and see if he could still see the vile, decayed flesh, but his body wouldn’t let him. He remained doubled over, sobbing and struggling for breath.

“I’ve just about finished some soup for you,” David said. “You just get right back to bed, I’ll bring it in for you.”

Martin coughed out a final mouthful of vomit before collapsing with his head on the toilet bowl. He didn’t want the soup. He didn’t want anything to eat, especially not something prepared by David. He stood up and leaned over the sink, splashing his face with water a few times, and then limped back to his bedroom. He curled up in the fetal position on his bed, pulling the blankets over his face. The bed sank as David sat down next to him.

“Martin,” he said, lifting the blanket. “I brought you soup, darling.”

“I’m not hungry,” Martin grumbled. He didn’t move from his position.

“You’ve gotta eat something,” David insisted. “Come on. I don’t want to force you.” He said it with a smile and a lighthearted tone, but Martin could feel the malice in his voice, he could smell the sickly-sweet rot beneath the odour of chicken soup. There was nothing left in his stomach to throw up, but if there was, he would’ve done so at that moment.

“I’m not eating that,” Martin snapped.

“Yes, you are.” David grabbed Martin by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back. “Sit up. I don’t want you to choke.”

Martin stayed where he was. David held out a spoonful of soup. Martin pinched his lips shut, but David shoved the spoon insistently into his mouth. Martin coughed as the soup dripped down his chin and the back of his throat. He reluctantly sat up, though he figured choking to death might still be better than succumbing to his gradual poisoning.

He allowed David to spoon-feed him the entire bowl of soup. It tasted more vile than usual, but Martin didn’t know if that was because he’d just become aware of the secret ingredient or if there was actually more of it that time. He was sweating and shaking by the end, and David just smiled that awful smile. He kissed him on his sweaty forehead, then left the room to take the bowl to the kitchen.

It felt like hours between the time he left and the time he returned. Martin clutched his stomach tightly, expecting to feel the urge to vomit at any moment, but it didn’t come. He was horribly nauseous, and he couldn’t seem to stop shaking, but he didn’t vomit.

David crawled back into bed, this time kneeling between Martin’s legs, leaning in close to his face. He kissed Martin, and his lips tasted of that awful soup. Martin wondered if he was eating it too, and if so, how he’d managed not to get sick. He dipped his tongue into Martin’s mouth. It felt gross and slimy. Martin had never been disgusted by kissing, and he’d kissed David before with no issue, but now it felt vile.

“I want you to suck me off,” David whispered, briefly breaking contact with Martin’s lips.

“I can’t,” Martin argued. “I’ll throw up.”

“That won’t be a problem.” David grinned, brushing Martin’s hair from his eyes. He reached down and unbuttoned his pants, pulling out his already hard cock. Martin gulped. David wasn’t small, and Martin had sucked his cock enough times before his illness to know he’d make him take it down to the base. Martin usually managed to suppress his gag reflex enough when he had a cock in his mouth, but he doubted he’d be able to do it in his current condition. He felt weak, and his stomach was in knots, and he was still certain he could vomit at any moment. Still, when David pushed him down into the pillow and pressed the tip of his cock to Martin’s lips, Martin didn’t resist.

The taste wasn’t bad. Martin had never minded the taste. He dutifully sucked and licked at the tip of the cock in his mouth, hoping he could make David feel good enough from this that he wouldn’t go any deeper.

“Oh, come on,” David muttered. “I know you can take more. I know you _like_ to take more.” He gripped Martin by the back of his head and pushed him farther down his cock. It tickled the back of his throat, and Martin gagged, feeling the burn of vomit rising towards his mouth. He slid his mouth up and down David’s cock, trying to make him feel good without taking him more than halfway in. Maybe he would’ve liked to take the full length of his cock, maybe he had enjoyed that length in his mouth before, but not like this. He just couldn’t handle any more in this condition.

David was having none of it. He bucked his hips suddenly, pushing his cock down Martin’s throat. Martin wasn’t ready. He couldn’t take it. He gagged, hard, and vomit sprayed from his mouth around David’d cock. David didn’t stop. The vomit trickled slowly over Martin’s lips and down his chin, filling his mouth with that awful taste and burning his throat. David fucked his mouth harder, soaking his cock in the stuff. He whined with every thrust. He _liked_ it.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he gasped, tilting Martin’s chin upwards and wiping away a bit of vomit with his thumb. He rubbed it over the base of his cock, moaning as he did so. His cock hit the back of Martin’s throat again and again, and eventually Martin ran out of vomit. It spilled down his chin and over his chest, sticky and itchy as it dried on his skin. When David came down his burning throat, it actually felt like a relief. He pulled his cock out of Martin’s mouth, allowing the remaining vomit to pour out.

He kissed Martin’s vomit-soaked lips, and then his chin, and then all down his neck and chest, practically lapping up the vomit. Martin sat still, gasping for air, choking slightly on the taste of vomit and cum.

“I need to take a shower,” he muttered.

David looked up at him, vomit staining his lips.

“No, you don’t. You’re just fine.”

“I need to go to hospital.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll take care of you. You know I will.” David leaned down to kiss him some more, and Martin took the opportunity to grab his phone off the bedside table and dial 999.

David tried to wrestle the phone from his hands, but he wasn’t fast enough, and Martin managed to scream that he needed an ambulance before he hung up. Paramedics burst into the room a few minutes later, pulling a shouting David off the bed and lifting Martin onto a stretcher. Martin passed out before they’d left the building.

He awoke in a hospital bed, still feeling ill but certainly much cleaner. He was in a clean hospital gown, and the smell of vomit was almost completely absent. He told the doctor he suspected his boyfriend had been poisoning him. He didn’t explain further.

After a few days in the hospital, Martin felt much better. He returned to his flat to find all of David’s possessions gone. Out of curiosity, he checked the bed. The sheets were the ones that had been there before he left, but they were completely clean. No traces of sick or sweat, not even an unpleasant smell. He’d called the landlord to ask if David had moved out, but the landlord had no idea what he was talking about. It was as if David had been completely erased from existence.

Good, Martin thought.


End file.
